At the Edge of the World
by Savage Aristocrat
Summary: A re-telling told through the eyes of the first Englishwoman to arrive in Jamestown. Anne has always been an obedient girl but once she is brought to the New World, she may find the strength to see her own power. PocahontasxJohn KocoumxOC pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE: I did post this story about a month ago, but I had to take it down and create a new account to post my non-Phantom fan fiction. Long story short, someone was sending me private messages, harassing me about not updating Phantom stories and basically putting me down for even writing Disney fic. While I will deal with that separately, I don't want that to hinder my progress with other stories. So it's best to keep them separate, I suppose. Sorry for the confusion.**

**Disclaimer: **This fanfiction is based on Disney's Pocahontas. It should be obvious that this is FICTION. It's an alternate history. I know the real facts but this is a romantic fantasy story at heart so please don't lecture me on history…I already know. Thanks. Also, I don't know if this storyline has been done before, but I've had this idea since 2004. I'm only getting around to writing it now. Sad, I know.

**At the Edge of the World**

_1606_

_London_

The heavy drapes were flung open as unwelcome light invaded Anne's bedchamber. She instinctively threw her arms over her face and rolled onto her stomach when the blankets were torn from her bed.

"No sleeping in today, Miss. Your father wants to see you downstairs," Sarah announced with her shrill, high pitched tone that always grated on Anne's ears. She rolled her eyes and stretched lazily as two more maids entered with a rather ornate gown.

"What is that for?" she asked nervously. Her question was ignored but two of the maids eyed each other knowingly as they went about the task of dressing her like she was a lifeless doll.

Anne carefully descended the creaking staircase, worried that she might trip over the many heavy skirts of this new gown. It was exceedingly difficult to maneuver within the confines of this silken prison. The lace and gilded trim scratched her soft skin like a garland of little thorns.

"Father?" she found him eyeing a chair by the mantle. He shook his head after a moment's consideration and kicked it aside with a grunt.

"No, no. Wont' do. You'll just have to stand."

"Stand? For what?" she asked.

"Your portrait."

"Portrait?"

"It will be sent to the governor. If he likes it, which he will, then the arrangement will be final. Took me seventeen years but I've found you a husband, girl. Even without your mother to raise you like a proper lady. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"A…husband, father?"

"Very well. No thanks for your aging father. I have come to expect nothing else from you, girl. Your husband won't be as tolerant as I have been," he said as he made his way to the door. He crept along with a limp. His boney fingers were clenched around a cane which he used to balance himself. Mr. Forrest was indeed aging poorly. His stringy white hair fell loosely from his balding head. His dull, narrow eyes peered from behind small wire framed spectacles.

Tolerant, indeed. Anne was only able to contain her mounting dread and outrage because of years of harsh upbringing. _Tolerant. _She would laugh at the mere thought if she didn't think he'd respond with a resounding slap against her jaw. Mr. Forrest did his job well, even without Mrs. Forrest. Anne was raised with a solid understanding of what would be expected of her.

She had always known that as a woman, she was just a pretty piece of property to be sold off in marriage. She took her father's unpleasant news with passive silence. Raised to be obedient and submissive, she never dared voice a single complaint even as she was now expected to surrender her life, body and soul to a man she had never met.

The painter arrived and Anne took her place beside the mantle without a word. She stood with a look of peace and serenity on her face to hide the raging turmoil within her. The maids had pulled, pinched and pinned her hair into an elaborate style before decorating her smoothed and twisted locks with strands of gems and beads. Her hair had been pinned back so tight that her head began to ache. The pearl earrings jangled frantically at the slightest tilt of her face.

Even after finding a way to abide her elegant torture devices, Anne's heart raced faster with each minute that passed without answers to her burning questions. A governor. She had never met any governors and so she could not begin to guess who her suitor might be. Perhaps he would be kind and sweet. Perhaps he would turn out to be a lover and a companion instead of a cold master. But as she continued to stand beneath the weight of fine silk, jewels and the scrutinizing glare of her father, she knew such hopes were useless. Mr. Forrest was not concerned with finding a good man to make Anne happy. If Mr. Forrest would benefit from the match, then she could marry an ogre for all he cared.

"Pinch your cheeks, girl. You're pale," he croaked with a frown. Jolted from her train of thought, Anne stirred for a moment before the painter intervened.

"She will be fine, my good Sir. I will add some color to her cheeks on the canvas. No need to trouble yourself, Miss Forrest," he said with a smile.

Anne held her poise, trying not to let her anxiety creep into her expression. When it was complete, Anne studied the portrait over her father's hunched shoulder. The painting shook in his unsteady grasp. To her father's dismay, the painter failed to capture the few strands of gold that often shone from her auburn locks. He did manage to convey the sharpness of her nose and the narrow curve of her chin. But her brown eyes seemed large and full of sadness.

Despite her father's criticism of the portrait, it was sent straight away to meet the governor's approval. Within weeks, the engagement was announced and Anne's fate was sealed. After three months without so much as a letter from her husband-to-be, Anne was dressed up in smooth, creamy silk and itchy gilded trimming once more. A veil was placed over her head and covered her pale, sad face. She was paraded out of her house and through the streets of London to the cathedral. Onlookers followed, anticipating a large wedding feast at the end of the long ceremony. Despite her best efforts, Anne could not ignore the comments of the crowd.

"She's a pretty one! Thin, though. That's a shame. He'll crush her for sure!" her heart skipped a beat. Judging from snide remarks whispered in nervous tones, her future husband was prone to some ridicule even though it seemed none would dare utter such offenses in his presence.

"Ah, so the pathetic social climber has snatched up the Forrest girl, eh? Poor thing. She does look pretty, though."

Anne thought she might faint before reaching the cathedral steps. What sort of horror was she to be delivered into? She ascended the steps as Anne Forrest, the daughter of a miserable old man but free and happy to tend her own garden and help herself to any book in her father's library she wished. She would be leaving this cathedral as Anne Ratcliffe, obedient wife to a cruel governor.


	2. Chapter 2

_1607_

Anne had devoted her best efforts to make Governor John Ratcliffe's estate feel like a home, if one could call it a home. A prison, more like. The stone walls were just as cold and foreboding as any jail. Her bedchamber was indeed more gloomy than the darkest prison cell. It was because she shared it with _him. _The daily challenge of remaining obedient and compliant was almost as difficult as the chore of pretending to be cheerful.

Governor Ratcliffe was suddenly desperate for a son. Though Anne was now well adjusted to the awkward and often unpleasant task of attempting to beget a child, she did not understand why having a son was more important now than ever.

She had been married by cold, calculating arrangement for nearly one year and yet she had not managed to produce an heir to her master. He mentioned often that even his most stubborn mare was more capable of breeding than she was. She pretended she could not hear his cruel remarks and would turn to her Bible for comfort once the tears had dried. The written word reinforced the concept that the purpose of women was to obey and serve men. If it was God's will, perhaps it would be easier to bear such a burden. The governor was losing patience and she was losing her sanity.

Anne found that there were too few women at court with whom she could confide in and their suggestions were as strange as they were unhelpful.

"If you want a boy, you must eat more salt," droned Lady Ashford as she lazily fanned herself. She winked and nodded at a young man who caught her eye.

"Salt?" Anne repeated, trying to gain her companion's focus once again.

"Your husband is old, sweat pea. Maybe it isn't _your _fault you are not having any luck," she whispered, taking hold of Anne's arm and forcing her to take a turn in the courtyard. Anne's cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. She did not wish to discuss the methods of conception at hand.

"My Lady…" she pleaded desperately as she attempted to hide her blushing cheeks with her fan.

"Oh please, do not be so coy. You have been married for a year. Such things should not embarrass you anymore," she replied with a smirk. A succession of frantic mumbles fell from Anne's lips before Lady Ashford interrupted her.

"Of course, there are other far more _pleasant_ ways of conceiving. And your husband need not even know about it," she added. Anne became entirely uneasy as her innocent question quickly evolved into a discussion of infidelity.

"The Earl of Bradford has a charming young son. Not two years older than yourself. Perhaps I should arrange for the two of you to meet. Oh, do not give me that look, Anne. Half the ladies at court have come to learn that there are other ways to find happiness in an unhappy marriage," she carried on without restraint as Anne desperately sought to change the subject. She could not remember a single moment in which she was happy to be Governor Ratcliffe's wife, but the mere thought of such betrayal disgusted her.

"Lady Ashford, why do you suppose he is so eager to have a son _now_? He wasn't at the start. At least not so much," she cut in suddenly, hoping to alter the course of the conversation.

"My dear," Lady Ashford chuckled heartily as Anne's agitation swelled like wave on a stormy sea.

"Does your husband keep you in the dark on _everything_? He has secured himself the task of settling the New World. He means to civilize and govern Virginia. With you by his side, of course," she declared. Her gleeful smile faded when she noticed, quite possibly for the first time, how anxious Anne had become.

"Now, now! My poor dear. Captain John Smith will be joining the expedition. Forget the Earl's son! Smith is a fine man himself. Count yourself lucky! I'm sure you'd have no trouble giving _him _a son."

Lady Ashford laughed softly to herself as she wandered down the path toward one of her many lovers as he waved playfully to beckon her. She was content to believe her good humor had solved all of dear little Anne's problems.

Anne was frozen where she stood. Her face was drained of all color as she dropped her hands to her sides. Her fan fluttered to the ground beside her feet but she did not move to retrieve it.

"_Virginia?_"

Among other various degrading practices Anne was expected to endure, she had grown accustomed to waiting to speak to her own husband in his study where she was forbidden to disturb him. Their manservant had scurried off to fetch the governor, leaving Anne alone in the hall with the snobbish little pug. Hoping she might distract her own sense of dread, Anne swooped down to stroke Percy's head. He growled at her for a moment but when she found the usual spot to scratch behind his ear, he returned to his casual state of indifference.

"Madam?" Wiggins gestured for her to follow him to her husband's study. She wondered if other wives were expected to be treated like unwanted guests in their husbands' homes. Perhaps she was not the only one. The mere thought was a small comfort to her.

"Sir, I-" Anne lost the will to speak when she noticed several maps sprawled amongst other papers on the governor's desk. She swallowed audibly but carried on as best she could.

"I was speaking with Lady Ashford today," she began uneasily.

"Hmm?"

"…and she has informed me of your plans to set sail for the New World."

"Lady Ashford is prone to gossip, my dear. Much to her own detriment. I don't care for your acquaintance with her."

"Then it isn't true?"

"Oh, it is indeed true," he informed her without so much as glancing up from his desk. Anne was submerged into her own stunned silence.

"Is that all?" he asked impatiently.

"She knew. Everyone else knows. Why am I the last to know? How much longer would you have waited to tell me?" her voice trembled. Ratcliffe laughed at her ignorance, unrolling another map and setting weights down on the curling edges.

"It hardly matters," he sighed.

"It…it matters to me. You have plans to take us far away from here and I didn't even know." tears were forming in her eyes, but if they had any affect on her husband, Anne did not know.

"We set sail in a month. We will hold a farewell banquet here in two weeks. There nothing else discuss…" he waved her away like she was an annoying little insect.

Slamming the door to her bedchamber, Anne collapsed on the large bed in a fit of tears. She felt hot blood surge through her veins like fire. Gasping for breath, she flung herself toward the open window to drink in the cool evening air. There was a knock at the door. For a moment, she feared her husband had come to reprimand her but she quickly realized he would never have knocked.

She opened the door to Wiggins as he entered with a tray of tea and an insufferably cheerful smile on his face. When he noticed the tears on her cheeks, his expression quickly evaporated.

"Is there anything I can do, Madam?" he asked. She merely shook her head and gestured for him to leave the tray on a table beside the window.


End file.
